


The Blue Fear

by TrekFaerie



Category: Batman (Comics), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Crossover, Drug Use, Fear, Gen, accidental arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Lecter has a colleague in Gotham City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blue Fear

The syringe is filled with a sickly, greenish-yellow liquid. It seems to glow faintly. Abigail is, rightfully, unsure about it. "What is it?" she asks, fidgeting on the couch.

"It's a new narcotic invented by a colleague of mine. I met him at a conference in Gotham City." He picks up the syringe and holds it up to the light. "It's supposed to evoke a strong emotional response in its users, tapping into their greatest fears and bringing them to the surface."

"And you want to use it on me, right?" She eyes it warily. "Remember the last time you put me on drugs?"

"You broke a teacup. That's hardly reason to count off the experience entirely."

"Aren't you supposed to be the responsible adult here, telling me not to do drugs?" She considers getting up and leaving, of just walking out of Lecter's office and out of Lecter's life, forever. But, she knows she can't do that. And she knows that he knows, too. So, she just whines. "Dr. Bloom is going to kill you if she finds out."

"Has she ever found out before?" He crosses from his desk and sits next to her, syringe in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. "You do still trust me, don't you?"

She really wishes she didn't. "Why don't you try it?" she asks, a little sulkily.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't very interesting for me, Abigail," he says breezily, already taking the opportunity to clean a section of her upper arm. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"You have to be afraid of something. Everyone's afraid of something."

"What do I have to be afraid of?" He smiles at her, all lip, and she thinks it's like asking a lion what he runs away from. (A lioness, a voice in the back of her head says, her dad told her something like that once, but she doesn't think that applies to this situation. At least, not yet.)

She closes her eyes. She's run out of excuses. "Um... I'm afraid of needles," she blurts out, and even she realizes how ridiculous that sounds.

"It's only a little pinch. I promise." The needle pricks her skin, and, for a moment, everything is still.

Then, electricity shoots up her veins, and everything goes black.

She doesn't know how she ended up back at her house. A part of her, a small, strong voice like a buck, reminds her that she's still in Dr. Lecter's office, but she's fallen onto the floor. But the shaking doe is bigger, louder, and she's back in her house, and it's night. She hears-- no she doesn't, it's not real, it's not happening-- the police sirens outside, people talking. And Nick Boyles. He's standing there, looking down at her. And he's holding his guts in his hands.

She screams.

"Abigail? What do you see?" Dr. Lecter's voice is coming out of Nick's mouth, but the oddness of it doesn't register with her, because she's too focused on the intestines slipping their way out the gaping wound on his stomach-- the one she made.

Her hands are covered with blood.

"Oh, God, I am so sorry," she tells him, her voice breaking. She stands, staggering, and makes her way over to him. "So, so sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't."

"Abigail."

She kneels in front of him, tries to push the intestines back into his stomach, tries to put them back where they belong, but she just makes it worse, makes the wound bigger. They slip through her fingers and splash on the floor, and she can see the hole they make in his stomach cavity. She can't stop crying.

"I didn't want to kill you." She puts her head against his bloody leg, clutching the fabric-- he's wearing jeans, but it doesn't feel like it-- and mumbling a constant stream of apologies.

It changes. She's in the cabin, still covered in blood, but it isn't Nick's-- Marissa. They're upstairs, and she's impaled on the rack of antlers, but she's alive, staring at her dumbly. "Oh, no," she says as she rushes forward, tries to take her friend, her only friend, off the rack. "No, I'll get you down. You'll be okay. I'll call the police, okay? You'll be okay. 

"Abigail." Marissa seems really calm for someone bleeding out, she thinks. "Who am I?"

"Marissa..." She starts to take off her shirt, to perform a tourniquet, well, somewhere, like on TV-- hears a loud, deep cough, but ignores it. "He said he didn't kill you. Before I... He said he didn't do it."

"Do you believe him?"

She doesn't answer-- she's started to hiccup, it makes it harder to breathe-- but tries to get Marissa to lie down, to just stay still until the ambulance can get here and everything will be okay. Her hand bumps against one of the antlers. (That is not an antler, the buck cries out, until it drowns in a sea of greenish yellow and is silenced for good.) There is so much blood.

A change. Marissa is gone. Nick is gone. The cabin, her house-- everything. She's in the hospital, sitting on the bed, but there's still so much blood... and it's all hers.

Will is standing against the other wall, gun in one hand and a knife in the other, and she cries out, jumping off the bed and crawling backwards until she hits the wall, staring in absolute blind terror. He knows. He knows what she's done, and he's here to stop her. Just like he stopped her dad. She whimpers and closes her eyes.

She opens her eyes and it changes again.

She blinks and looks up blearily, squinting against the bright sunlight of the forest. There is a figure above her, darkness in a hunting outfit with a shotgun slung over its shoulder. Drops of its blood land on her face like tears. "... Dad?"

It's then that her mind blows out, like a candle, and she sees nothing but darkness and demons reaching out of it, and a blood-red dragon with a smile that doesn't reach its eyes.

 

He leaves her on the couch, boneless and sobbing, until the toxin works its way out of her system and she falls into a fitful sleep. He sits with her for a while, stroking her hair, mulling over the bits and pieces he managed to pick up from her deranged ramblings, and willing his own erection down. How unprofessional...

He is going to ask Dr. Crane for a crate of that toxin.

**Author's Note:**

> so there's this french phrase "avoir une peur bleue de quelque chose" that i wanted to use for the title b/c i like the french theme the same way I like all pet shop of horrors fic titles to start with D but long titles are pretentious
> 
> also it's still a gen fic if a topless teenage girl sitting on top of you gives you an erection right like that's just something that would happen
> 
> yeah i think it's okay. it's okay hannibal it would be rude not to.
> 
> i am a serious published author with serious authorly ways y'all


End file.
